1 Meditation? Of A Sort. [Invite only] Thu May 31, 2018 11:08 pm
Kohaku Tsukino
D-rank
He'd seen this done a million times by dozens of his family; a strange sort of meditation done via sitting so still that they became one with the highly conductive rocks formations that littered the the area. It was natural for them, his father one said it was something like "ya gotta charge y'er batteries, yanno? S'easy ta' do it li'e tha', sittin' aroun' an' suckin' up all tha' lightnin' 'n tha' air". He sort of got it, kinda; but it was never as easy for him. He couldn't handle lightning like his father or mother could; which wasn't too say he couldn't use it, because he sure could; it just wasn't as natural. Not as powerful. But he could do things they couldn't at his age, so he wasn't too upset. There was no sense of judgement in his family, but he was curious as to why he wasn't as much of a lightning rod as the rest. "Maybe you're a late bloomer? " his sister would say. "It happens, don't worry too much about it."
He wasn't much convinced. Or he was, but he... wasn't? He didn't feel judged, nor did he feel like he was being treated as lesser; but he still wasn't sure. A touch a pre-teen angst starting, perhaps? Or a weird quirk of the times. Things where strange around the temple; a queer tension along the elders toward the outsiders that roamed the temple grounds. Outsiders being anyone not family, not of their monks and bloodlines. Outright hostility toward the village ninja not branded by the clan's mark. Cousin of fire roaming about was nice, but they too seemed upset and so very tense. Licks of flame danced with the sparking thunder, signaling the underlying unsettled moods of the clan and their visiting cousins. Unsettled not because of their cousins; the thunder dragons would forever welcome and love their fire salamander cousins; they where one family separated by nothing more than distance after all, so having the brilliant red and orange dancing among the purple and gold was beyond comfort, which only served to highlight how upset everyone was. He didn't know exactly why, but his father would only say "Tha' Outlanders're asking fer trouble, neh. Dun worry, I'll handle it."
He trusted his father. He couldn't shake the feeling in his gut; that the world was about to flip and shatter. He didn't like it.
He needed to calm himself.
Mediation. He hoped it would help.
So there he sat, not far from the main entrance to the temple itself; although you'd never know if you didn't already, given how it blended so well into the rock of the mountain; sitting in the shade of the formation, not much more than a meter or so off the ground, his brilliant purple and gold robes shimmering in the shadows yet blending perfectly into the rock and tumultuous sky above. If you didn't know he was there, he wasn't. Yet, he lived, he breathed, he attempted to meditate.
And he was failing. Mediation via stillness wasn't much his thing, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't quiet as stubborn as his father, but he was still pretty much the 'I'll do it if it kills me' type. For some things. Mediation wouldn't kill him; worst case he singed a few hairs if he got struck by a bolt of lightning. He was still young, lightning did jack all overall to him, but he did still usually end up with a few burnt hairs or two if he took a hit from a natural storm bolt. The more the merrier, though; lightning tickled and he rather enjoyed it. It was like a shot of energy to his body, a tickle of life and love and everything good in the world; the embrace of a mother, the proud strength of a father. Everything about his life that was good and innocent and just and wonderful, condensed into a split infinity of an instant of surging fury. Beautiful.
Man, he could go for a good strike. He might not be a walking lightning rod like his dad, but that didn't stop him from enjoying it all the same.
Oh distractions. Mediation of silence forever beyond the mind of the scholar and thinker.
WC: 752
He wasn't much convinced. Or he was, but he... wasn't? He didn't feel judged, nor did he feel like he was being treated as lesser; but he still wasn't sure. A touch a pre-teen angst starting, perhaps? Or a weird quirk of the times. Things where strange around the temple; a queer tension along the elders toward the outsiders that roamed the temple grounds. Outsiders being anyone not family, not of their monks and bloodlines. Outright hostility toward the village ninja not branded by the clan's mark. Cousin of fire roaming about was nice, but they too seemed upset and so very tense. Licks of flame danced with the sparking thunder, signaling the underlying unsettled moods of the clan and their visiting cousins. Unsettled not because of their cousins; the thunder dragons would forever welcome and love their fire salamander cousins; they where one family separated by nothing more than distance after all, so having the brilliant red and orange dancing among the purple and gold was beyond comfort, which only served to highlight how upset everyone was. He didn't know exactly why, but his father would only say "Tha' Outlanders're asking fer trouble, neh. Dun worry, I'll handle it."
He trusted his father. He couldn't shake the feeling in his gut; that the world was about to flip and shatter. He didn't like it.
He needed to calm himself.
Mediation. He hoped it would help.
So there he sat, not far from the main entrance to the temple itself; although you'd never know if you didn't already, given how it blended so well into the rock of the mountain; sitting in the shade of the formation, not much more than a meter or so off the ground, his brilliant purple and gold robes shimmering in the shadows yet blending perfectly into the rock and tumultuous sky above. If you didn't know he was there, he wasn't. Yet, he lived, he breathed, he attempted to meditate.
And he was failing. Mediation via stillness wasn't much his thing, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. Not yet, anyway. He wasn't quiet as stubborn as his father, but he was still pretty much the 'I'll do it if it kills me' type. For some things. Mediation wouldn't kill him; worst case he singed a few hairs if he got struck by a bolt of lightning. He was still young, lightning did jack all overall to him, but he did still usually end up with a few burnt hairs or two if he took a hit from a natural storm bolt. The more the merrier, though; lightning tickled and he rather enjoyed it. It was like a shot of energy to his body, a tickle of life and love and everything good in the world; the embrace of a mother, the proud strength of a father. Everything about his life that was good and innocent and just and wonderful, condensed into a split infinity of an instant of surging fury. Beautiful.
Man, he could go for a good strike. He might not be a walking lightning rod like his dad, but that didn't stop him from enjoying it all the same.
Oh distractions. Mediation of silence forever beyond the mind of the scholar and thinker.
WC: 752